(or Another Case of Those Cyberchat Blues)

Santa Cruz streets and nights with you.
Asleep in the back of my Subaru.
Never could get close enough.

Peasant dress wrapped soft
Around a sultry silhouette.
She’s a Beauty.
Oh, and I mustn't forget,
The weed that chokes
The bitter memories
To death!
The big ones,
You know,
The ones that got away.

The smell of smoke
From autumn's burning leaves.
Tears in eyes.
I can barely breathe.
And all of my Savoir Faire,
The love I once imagined,
Might as well be…
Well, Missing!

I suppose we are,
A work of art,
We two.
Two thousand miles,
Just fingertips apart;
Tips touching,
Tips tapping,
Tips forever tripping
Over guitar strings
And baby-grand piano keys.

We get close,
But nothing changes,
The time signature and distance in-between,
The rearranging,
The idle thoughts,
The chance that I am
Talking to myself
In these, my waking dreams.


In truth we loved,
But seldom ever got to play.

While melodies still ripple
Send their waves to the horizon,
And tickles to the keyboard,
Carry out our conversations.
This small motion,
Sweet emotion,
Gifts your musings to my ears,
Heaps harmonics on my heart!

And we have always known the magic.
We have always sensed Electric.
We have always heard our kindred souls
Singing in the dark.
Singing, singing…
Singing in the dark!

Embedded in this cryptic code,
The noble art of make believe.
Could I really wish this world?
Heft it like a duffle bag,
Bear its weight upon my shoulders
Play the part with youthful ease?
No, I don’t think so!

Me,
I’ll swim in lazy circles,
Rest in shade of summer trees,
Type as if my life depended,
Making this my history.

Always,
M.S.T.

P.S.

In the dark of night,
When your inner-child
Is restless and afraid,
Kiss her on the cheek
Before she goes to sleep,
And in your arms,
Let her
Awake!


Michael S. True
4-2-11 last edit 6-29-13